


Let me down (gently)

by Adzara



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Domestic Avengers, Homeless Peter Parker, Homelessness, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Precious Peter Parker, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-03-14 18:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18953458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adzara/pseuds/Adzara
Summary: The books didn't make homelessness seem easy but they sure as hell didn't convey the truth of the matter. When the last time Peter touched another human was more than six months ago, the days are getting colder, and his canning money's getting slim, the last thing on his mind is a family reunion.He doesn't expect it to go great with the media portrayal of his childhood hero. It's just that he didn't expect it to be that bad either.---Tags may be added as the story progresses, and warnings may change.





	1. Disaster #7: A prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there. Thanks for clicking on this story! This story was something I started purely for self-satisfaction and is becoming a mash-up of tropes. So don't take it too seriously. That said I hope someone gets some amusement here!

The books didn't make homelessness seem easy but they sure as hell didn't convey the truth of the matter. Peter had kept up alright with pop culture, he watched the shows, and things always went the same:

  1. You found an abandoned building and turned it into your home. Free rent for the win.
  2. There was always someone to take pity on you, a close friend you make on the streets.
  3. Nights were survivable- which is bullshit. Why did nobody talk about how damn cold it was? Peter knew it wasn't just his lack of thermoregulation.



But the truth was there weren't a lot of abandoned buildings in New York. And those that existed were heavily monitored and quickly bought out for remodel. Finding a good (safe) place to settle down was just about impossible. Some nights he'd find a covered alcove for maybe half a night before the police came scaring him off.

It was a dog eat dog world, and New York only made that worse. The majority of the homeless population were the unfortunate souls that fell into addiction. They weren't always rude- most were surprisingly chill and formed their little world (theirs vs. the real world as someone put it). But Peter was offered heroin (which 90% of the time was fentanyl) once a day if he was unlucky and the moment he declined, he became invisible. When your only goal was your next hit, you developed an inability to have real friends and instead you had codependency. But nobody needed anything from Peter, and he didn't need anything from anyone else either.

So Peter was alone, getting a few hours of sleep at a time where he could and patrolling as Spiderman during the day. Around 3- when the bars were all closed down- he'd go rummaging around for cans to shove into a large plastic bag and run to the redemption center. The money wasn't great, but he'd make about $10-$15 a night- which wasn't enough to get on his feet, but it kept his web fluid stocked and his uniform patched and left sufficient money for food most weeks.

Peters life wasn't always like this. Things were pretty good at one point- when it was him and his aunt and his uncle. Then he was Spiderman, and things were even better for a while. He was having fun and doing great in school- he was in senior level classes with a promise to dual enroll at UOC next year. And he was doing good with Decathlon and the whole saving lives (or cats or even ice cream from melting) things, and the entire Era of parker luck was silent.

Until August. Until he found the letter that killed his Aunt and Uncle.

It was tucked away in a way he’d never have noticed without his spidey senses. The large Mufasa he’d had since he was a baby, one that doubled as a hand puppet but stopped roaring so long ago he couldn’t remember it ever working. So what does any 14-year-old boy-genius do with a broken toy? He tried to fix it.

And between the battery pack and the voicebox in Mufasa’s mouth was a thick and compressed set of paper.

Peter now kept it to soothe him on those especially bad days- the ones when he realizes its been half a year since he physically touched another human or the days his can collection wasn’t quite enough to cover his superhuman metabolism. He sat on the edge of a highrise in Queens, worn paper he’d read over and over again in his hand. He always read it like it was the first time.

 

> _"As I always do before missions, I'm leaving this letter where only you would look, just in case we don't make it back._
> 
> _I was given a mission to infiltrate Hydra. And there you were, such a small delicate little thing. Your eyes were so blue, and you had adorable baby fuzz all over. I knew then that this was fate, and I had to make sure you were okay. I destroyed the files on you; not even Shield knows you were there. And from what I found in there, if Hydra knew you were alive, they'd never stop targeting you. So I hid you, and your existence from the world. For a year now I've raised you on my own. I never wanted children, but I feel like I could be content with just us, years now, in a little apartment in Queens. I don't think we'd need much, only the two of us."_
> 
> _"But if you find this letter, don't feel bad. I know Richard and May will accept you like their own. They don't know where or why I took you, but they know you're unique. You'll be raised like a normal, healthy boy._
> 
> _I love you, Peter, so much. I'm sorry your parents never got to do the same. And I hope you forgive me._
> 
> _With all my love,_
> 
> _Jemma “_

 

He'd say his hands didn't shake when he first found the letter, but the paper was unsteady, nearly falling from his hands at some points. But instead of finding out he was some experiment or criminals son he saw the multifold of a birth certificate and the too large name at the top:

 

> **Peter Howard Stark.**
> 
>  

It was now a sweet reminder of a love he might still have out there. But when he’d first discovered the letter, he’d freaked out, yelling and accusing his Aunt and Uncle, showing them the birth certificate before his senses decided 11 was too weak, dialed themselves up to 20, and he ran from the house in an attempt to just shut everything up.

And they did. Peters Spidey Senses had stopped, signifying that the danger had passed. And he’d never forgotten how he'd sagged where he knew only of cool damp concrete underneath him.

He'd realized too late that his senses had gone quiet because of the damage done. A driver hit may and Ben. It wasn’t the driver's fault, he was going a little fast, but it was Queens, and that was normal. Peter had been the one in the middle of the road- the one the driver had swerved to miss. The one who’d killed Ben and May.

He hadn't stopped running since. 


	2. The Miscommunication, the Man, and the Meeting.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets his dad for the first time. Regret ensues. So does a proposition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kind comments and kudos.  
> 

"The usual?"

Peter nodded at the Barista, teeth chattering too much to respond verbally. Peter, in his childhood innocence, never paid much attention to the weather. He knew winter was cold and summer was hot, but he never knew when the lines blurred together toward Spring and then into Fall. It was early May, but the weather wasn't even hinting at warming up. The snow had melted, yet it was still jacket weather for the average Joe.

Which meant Peter, thin and hollow, was freezing.

"This should warm you right up," he was handed a warm coffee. Peter gave a grateful smile, which the Barista returned. He liked this guy a lot because he never chased him away with pointed glances at the 'NO LOITERING' sign right above the daily specials.

Peter settled into a cozy little corner by the window, away from the two other patrons that had dragged themselves awake at 7 in the morning god-knows-why. He did this partially to draw attention away from himself and mostly because his hygiene wasn't exactly pleasant, and he bore the uniquely homeless stench. Peter found himself moderately immune to the odor now, but he remembered half a year ago when he sickened at his clothes.

Peter tried to avoid forming habits, notably trackable and expensive habits, but Cafe Roma has $1 house coffees on Tuesdays. Truthfully, Peter hated the caustic drink and the normal-persons environment. Nobody cared about some smelly kid when he's hidden in allies or the little Hoovervilles surrounded by his kind. But a 14-year-old homeless kid loitering around Cafe Roma in downtown Manhatten, right across from the prestigious stark tower? Yeah, that tended to turn a few heads.

But Peter couldn't help it. Tuesday morning was the one day a week he allowed himself to be a kid and fantasize away. His parents were right there across the street, living as normal of a life you could when you were Pepper Potts and Tony Stark. Peter liked to sit, staring up at the tower, daydreaming of a different experience in a different lifetime. But this was real life and if he went in as himself accusing Tony Stark of being his dad- well who would believe him?

He tried it once, last winter when it was frigid but security didn't even allow him into the lobby. His excuse hadn't worked either.

 

> _"Can I help you?" A burly set of men- at least twice Peters height- stared down their prominent noses at him._
> 
> _"I- I'm just- you see Tony Starks-" And he'd started sweating in such an unattractive way the guys probably thought he was on drugs. He didn't remember all the rest, but he was pretty sure he tried to mimic some door-to-door speel about their lord and savior._
> 
> _The men weren't religious._

It was a relief how the stress made him black out. He hadn't tried again since.

After finishing his coffee, as slow as possible, he made his way out of the warm cafe and crossed his arms in defense against the wind. His patchwork jacket - by casualty, not design- did little to shield him. He wasn't sure what time it was, but it couldn't have been more than half past seven. Still, New York was bumper to bumper morning traffic, and he weaved between cars to get to the other side. There was a little alley he could take and then scale a building to get some quiet and change into his Spider-Man gear.

He found his backpack stuck to the underside of an overflowing dumpster, his sensitive nose scrunching up in distaste as he knelt to clear the webs with a gentle tug of his super strength.  
Instead of risking changing in the middle of an ally in a busy area he glanced around 'discretely' before hopping up and catching a fire escape about 9 feet up, pulling himself up with practiced ease and softly scaling- the human way- up to the top of the roof. If he used his abilities to stick up the last few feet, no one was any the wiser.

"Phew," He exhaled, flopping on his back with a slow dread of incoming exhaustion and hunger. New York was shit in the theme of free food with the overrun of the homeless population. Not for the first time, Peter wished he didn't have such a big responsibility- he could go just to the west. Maybe Washington or Oregon where people were more helpful- or so he heard. Where they had programs to help, kids like him get back on their feet.

(But he wasn't a normal kid, he put himself in this situation when he caused May and Ben to-)

"Hey, Kid, I was wondering when you'd show up."

"???" Peter bolted up, eyes immediately narrowing on the source of the sound. How the hell had his spidey senses not alerted him?

Just feet away from him stood Iron Man himself, in all his red and gold glory.

"Oh my god-"

The suit opened like wrapping to a present Peter never knew he needed.

"Yeah, I know, closest you'll probably see- unless you play your card right. Oh, no, Thor's still awol, but enough of that- were you going to keep creeping in that trashy coffee shop or were you ever going to find me?"  
Peter couldn't shake the feeling of- something different. Something warm and soft blooming from right below his ribcage and blossoming up. This man was his dad, In person. And unlike on the TV now Peter could search for the similarities between them. He could see their matching hair type, the eyes, the nose. Peter's face was softer than his fathers, but it was so undeniable.

"Uh, Kid?"

Peter visibly started, closing his gaping mouth. "Huh, me? W-why would I- you're Tony Stark. You're all..." Peter motioned up and down dramatically, trying to come off as innocent as possible. But now his dad knew he was- what- stalking him?

His dad snorted, rolling his eyes and stretching his neck as he stepped out of his Iron Man suit. "Okay this whole playing dumb thing, not working for me Kid. Here's the part where I say yeah, I know who you are, and we can skip the part where you deny it or get all giddy and get down to business, okay?"

It took Peter a second- long enough for Tony Stark to circle around him- but then it clicked. Oh god, oh god, it's happening, he thought. Tony knew they were Father and Son. Then, just as quickly, an uneasy feeling settled in his gut. Shouldn't Tony be a little Happier? Maybe even pulling him into a hug? Or would it be more appropriate to be more surprised? Gentle, even?

Something felt off, but Peter couldn't let go of that warm feeling in his stomach. Still, he couldn't help but ask in a small voice, "Did you know about me the whole time?"

"Kid, I could find out what you ate for breakfast if I wanted. Of course I know about you and where you've been hanging out- which is an issue. But we'll deal with that later."

(Oh, there goes the warmth, soaring off like a bolt with self cognizance. Bye warm feeling-)

Peter sat back, blinking, and trying to figure out the enigma in front of him. It was just so much different. Yeah, he was relieved that Tony believed him and he didn't have to break in as Spiderman to prove it. At the same time, Tony Stark was who Peter had expected from the media. Brash with a touch of awkwardness yet possessing suave underlinings. It wasn't like Peter expected anything different- not really. (He did, he's lying to himself, and he knows it). 

So he grew both embarrassed and disappointed all at once. He didn't want it to seem like he was throwing himself at the man, but he couldn't ignore it. Rubbing the back of his neck, he asked in a squeaky voice, "Then why didn't you look for me earlier?"

Tony knelt, but not to lower himself to Peters level, his attention was on the raggedy black(ish) backpack on the ground. He pressed something on his watch, bringing a gauntlet from his suit to cover his bare hand before picking up the item as if it offended him.

"'Cause I knew where you were the whole time and while not ideal, you weren't in danger. Look, Kid, you're unique and all but I didn't need a little guy like you hanging around. Being some superhero father figure to a teen from Queens isn't my style. I don't have kids for a reason."

Stark smiled as if Peter could find humor in his words. Instead, peter colored, mortified by the apparent rejection but becoming less surprised by every hurtful word out of his dad. "So then... why now?"

"Well for one your stalking the tower is getting disturbing. Are you _trying_ to draw attention to yourself?"

"I-It- no-"

"Ah, shh," Tony snapped when Peter tried to answer his question, recommencing his case and also continuing his careful unzipping of the repugnant bag. "In light of certain events, I need a little help from Queens local Spiderman so when I discovered the fascinating video of you stopping… what was it, 25 tons?"

Peter wanted to deny the accusation. He felt a list of excuses start to form on his tongue, but Spiderman was a small secret compared to his lineage. Tony needed help and hadn't come into it with an accusatory tone. He hadn't scolded Peter for his lifestyle choices, and he didn't seem like the type to get CPS involved- if only to save his ass.

Peter was at the precipice of two option.

He could deny it, refuse his dads request for help. He'd probably never see Stark again outside of Avenger co-projects, but even then they were in different leagues.

Or Peter could accept. He would be fighting with the Avengers or at least Iron man. His dad might not have wanted him as a son, but he wanted Spiderman because he was useful.

A small part of Peter was disappointed with his father; however, a more substantial part was still wrapped up in a desire to meet his parents, to be accepted by them. So maybe someday, if Peter just proved he could be an asset, his dad would let him address him as such.

His pride begged him to say yes, but the little boy he inside him- the part he tried to deny- couldn't allow it.

He tried to grab at the bad when his dad uncovered the red spandex costume he'd poorly hidden at the bottom of the bag- but stark was fast too, and he raised it above Peter's head.

Peter huffed, "Is there anything you don't know?"

"Unlikely. So how about it? You, me, grumpy security boss and a private jet to Germany?"

"Um, Sir, I don't have my passport."

Tony just scoffed. "You're with me, Kid, do you think a little national security will stop a Stark?"

"Uh, well, I guess not, Sir." Peter rubbed his hands, anxiously, "But what do I get out of it?"

He wanted to take the question back, but instead of frustration, his dad's grin just grew. "Good Kid, always ask- see this is what the new generation is lacking! The initiative," Toni grinned, "Tell you what, you help me out, and I let you keep the awesome suit I made you. I did make you a suit, did I tell you that already?"

"No, but-but, I have a suit."

Tony laughed, "Kid, you have glorified underwear and tanning goggles."

"I don't need your suit," Peter grumbled, feeling stubborn.

Tony paused, and Peter was pretty sure he'd sputter if he tried to talk. Taking mercy on the bewildered Avenger, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Instead of the suit... what if you let me use your lab?"

"Hah, no."

"Why not?" Peter whined, "I mean I'd be, like, saving you the labor of making me a suit!"

"You think I'd let some 12-year-old-"

"I'm fourteen!"

"-in my lab?"

"But I have a ton of notes, of ideas. And there are a few new compounds for my web formula I want to try, and you'd- you'd have all of that." Peter quickly grabbed his bag from where his dad had dropped it, pulling a dingy yellow notepad out and holding it out, which his dad took reluctantly with the gloved hand. "But my usual guy can't get me what I need, and I know you-"

"Okay first, I'm an engineer, not a chemist. And even if there's an entire floor dedicated to compound research there's no way I'm letting a kid make a complex- and can I stress complex- tensile-" Tony stopped talking, tilting his head to the side sharply in thought as he scanned a page in the middle of the book, leaning it away where Peter couldn't see, "Actually Kid, how about you leave this with me and you get in the car that's pulling around-" He checked his watch, "Right now, on your six. I'll see you in, say, eight hours, in Germany?" And he stepped back into his armor to fly off the roof- like the outcome had already been decided.

Peter sputtered but somehow wound up in the backseat of a car with a grumpy (mob boss) security guard ionically named Happy.

 

* * *

 

"So... how long have you known Mr. Stark," Peter asked the chauffeur/guard/troll-missing-his-bridge, shifting uncomfortably in the back seat on the way to the airport.

"Longer than you've been alive," said Happy.

"Oh, oh, cool. So, like, do you know my- er- Mrs.Potts too?"

"I'm head of security."

"That's neat. Um, so does she know about me? What's she like? She always seems confident on TV. I bet she's fantastic, huh, Mr.Happy. Does she-"

Peter stopped when he noticed the tinted window partition, separating them was slowly rolling up.

"Mr. Hogan?"

Happy was making a poor attempt at looking surprised, "Sorry, Kid can't hear you. It's the window. Been broken since you got in the car."

"You are literally rolling-"

"-Sorry can't talk sorry bye-"

What even was his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a short one, but I'll be going overseas for two weeks with additional free time. I plan on writing a bunch on my vacation, so hopefully, I'll have the next chapter finished soon. 
> 
> In the meantime here is a preview:
> 
> "Stay down, Kid,"
> 
> "What? No, no I'm good," Peter objected, fear of disappointing his father outweighing a few (maybe-slightly-kinda) fractured ribs. So before his father could open his mouth again, Peter kicked off, webbing a nearby airplane for leverage to propel himself back up into the fray.


	3. The Reserved Criminal

Peter took back everything critical he'd thought about his Dad so far because this hotel room had to be a suite. And it had a great view of some ancient and pretty buildings. Happy got after him at one point for obsessing too vocally.

His Dad didn't show up, but he was nothing if not busy. Peter spent his time enjoying the heat and the soft bed and slept most of it off. After living in a constant state of alertness, the hotel room was like a sigh that drained him of the adrenaline-fueled energy that had propelled him the last half-year

He wakes up before Happy has a chance to knock on his hotel door (A door that someone has to knock on to get to him! Imagine that!), and he tries to web it open before realizing it's locked. He cracks it sheepishly. "Housekeeping?"

Happy is not amused, "Why aren't you dressed? Boss called, It's time to go."

Peter's wearing clothes from the lobby gift shop, Happy had delivered to him upon arrival yesterday- to both their reliefs. He's quick to change into his homemade suit- and does so gleefully knowing it will urk his Dad that he refused the billionaires suit. "Oh shit, is this teenage rebellion?" He whispers to himself. 

Happy just stares at him like this was way below his paygrade- it probably was, but who is Peter to feel wrong about that? Any tumor of guilt was radiated away when Happy roughly herded him away from the continental breakfast buffet in the hotel room (it had to be a buffet, there was too much food even for him to eat) and out the back of the hotel.  A sleek car was still running with his Dad in the back seat and no driver, waiting for them.

"Oh, hey, Mr. Stark," He rambles awkwardly, fastening his seatbelt and clearing his throat from nerves. "Hey, how'd you sleep? The beds here are amazing."

Mr. Stark seems decidedly uninterested in the beds, to the point that he doesn't bother justifying it with a response. "I see you're still wearing your onesie. Did Happy tell you I brought a suit for you? One made of more than-" He flourished a hand over Peters costume "Spandex. Hey Hap? You did tell him about the suit, right?"

"Yeah, I told him about the suit," Happy Sighs. "The kid likes spandex."

"It's not spandex!" Peter kicks his bag under happy's seat for safekeeping, with a little more force than necessary. "So, uh, what's the plan, Mr. Stark? What do you need me to do?"

"If I need you, I want you to keep your distance and web em up. Take Cap's Shield if you can. Don't engage in close combat. You hear me, Kid?"

"Oh yeah totally- wait- what do you mean IF?"

"Here's the thing about the Superhero Gig: Your backup's backup plans have to have backup plans because shit always goes sideways. There's no way to predict variables with people; there are only ways to circumvent. That's what you are, by the way: a backups backup plan."

Peter gapes, "So, you might not even call on me?" Because the thought that his Dad brought him all the way to Germany as a back up to a backup plan? What!

"The last thing I want is to be seen with you wearing that," Tony scrunched up his face. Apparently, they were still on the scorn of Peter passing up his new suit. "...Underoos."

Peter sputter, face flashing red, "They are not!"

"My underwear offers more protection that that kid-"

"-Okay first off, EWW, I don't want to think of an old man's underwear-"

"Old man! Happy, do you hear this?"

"Second, they aren't underwear-"

-"Kids underwear-"

"It's a suit!"

"Boss we're here," Happy rolled the partition all the way down, stepping out to open the door for Tony. 

His Dad scoffed, "Alright, Kid, we're here. Wait until I call you. You know the drill," before disappearing out of the car.

Peter scrambled to Tony's vacated side of the car, calling out the open door. "Wait, Mr. Stark! What's my cue?"

Tony didn't take a second to think about it, "Underoos," he slapped the top of the car and flashed a silly grin. Then, he slammed the reactor on his chest and was already walking away by the time his Iron Man suit started encasement. 

  
\------

From the moment he steals the shield, all hell breaks out. He's barely time to flip backward before he's distracted by an arrow whizzing past his head and kicked in the face from a little dude who is suddenly regular-sized. Weirder things haven't happened before, but he adapts well enough. Peter kicks off the roof of the car as communication comes from his Dad via the custom earpiece attached to his lapel - quiet enough to not distract but loud enough for his sensitive ears to hear from a distance. 

"Wait, wait, what do I do?"

"What we discussed," His Dad sounds exasperated, "web em up."

"Okay, yeah, copy. Sure," He stutters, casting a web behind him mid-flip and soaring in the direction the arrow had previously come from. His Dad had gone after some other unknowns, and the Black Panther was handling Captain America. Within seconds he's tailing a pair of footsteps through the airport halls. And while yes, going against the Falcon and a murdering Super-soldier was intimidating, it was also pretty cool. 

And easy, if he was honest, but he was willing to acknowledge that they were aiming at flight rather than fight. He got to see the fully-functioning metal prosthetic of the super-soldier up close- "Wow, talk about revolutionizing prosthetics," He quipped happily before being floored by the Falcon. However, the Falcon was human, and his strength was natural to overpower after a full night of sleep and rest. Peter twisted and kicked him out the window, webbing him securely to the side of the building before he was tackled again. "Hey, look just, uh, stay there, and it should dissolve in like 2 hours- waaa!"

He was shooting to the side, a drone once again knocking him down. He grappled quickly enough and tore its left-wing off, but shortly after, he was being attacked by a solid body. He crashed off the second floor and down into a baggage claim. 

"Man, do all of you just come out of nowhere-" He complained loudly. He was getting really sick of being floored. Most of his fights were a one and done deal with simple muggers and bank heisters: people who were desperate, not professionally trained, and enhanced. 

"Dude, not cool," He grimaced as he rolled, kicked the super-soldier away, and webbed himself a safe distance away with a flourishing flip, webs shooting out towards the soldier and pinning his leg and torso to an inoperable escalator. "Two hours!" He shot down at him helpfully. 

He was just starting to feel pretty good about himself when he tunes in his senses to the rest of the airport. He could hear and see a cascade of cars falling from a parking lot surrounded by vivant red. "Oh, hey, Mr. Stark, Sir, you okay?" Peter calls through the coms. 

"Yep, Yeah," He sounds no less annoyed if not a little out of breath. "You Web and dashing?"

"Totally, Mr. Stark Sir!" Peter acknowledged, swinging towards where the commotion was to help. He arrived just in time to help lift the last of the cars from where they'd piled to slow his Dad down. 

"Thanks, Kid," Iron Man acknowledged. Both of them flinch from seeing a poof of fire from another terminal. "It never ends," Tony sighed. 

Peter swung after his Dad, falling into line, and soon he was back in the heart of it. This time he fought the Scarlet Witch and thought this mashup had to be done on purpose because she was the actual worst to fight. Glowing balls of unexplained science and flying, they practically neutralized each other. He was pretty sure she realized it too because it wasn't long before she split off, and he was back in the air, looking for a safe place to intervene in the others. 

And then Captain America was free and running, and Peter really wasn't too sure about going up against the legend, but hey, his Dad seemed to think him capable enough. All Peter had to do was stop him from getting to his destination. 

Easier said than done, Peter thought 72 seconds later when he'd been floored in the face by a shield. 

"Tony tell you what this is about," the Captain tried. Peter knew better than to fall for the enemy's plans. That was in every lousy movie ever.  It wasn't until Peter had a hangar dropped on his shoulders that he was desperate enough to buy time by chatting, 

"No, but he doesn't need to. He's Iron Man," Peter defended. He realized how weak his defense sounded, but he hadn't really stopped to think about it. 

"He'll say it's about the accords. But that's not all son. A real bad person is going to let loose a dozen dangerous super-soldiers just like Bucky and me. I don't have time to stop. I'm just trying to do the right thing, and I think you are too."

Cap was gone and out of sight before Peter manages to wrestle the hanger bay off his shoulders. He didn't have time to question why he was fighting, but Caps' words definitely brought recent memories to light. Peter probably wouldn't have picked up a paper if it wasn't for his living situation, cause, hey, the stereotype of sleeping with a newspaper was sadly true. Peter used it to insulate the ground, and if the front page had his Dad's face on it, then maybe he paid more attention than he would have before. 

That was how he knew about the accords. He didn't understand them; they seemed complicated, and not something a half-column could explain that well. 

He understood a few things. One: it would require a superhero's to register and comply or retire. Two: he wouldn't be allowed to act without permission. 

He wasn't sure how much permission he'd need, but with the vagueness of the accords right now, there was no way he could agree with them. They'd destroy him. And the problem underlying it all: Enhanced don't have rights. He could mull it over for days, but without new information, there were only circles. His only option was to trust his Dad- his Dad, whose son, and friends were enhanced. He really didn't appreciate the Captain making him question it like that! And what was that about bad people?

So maybe Peter was a little distracted when he reentered the battle. Then the little guy from before was an even bigger guy, and people were flying like mad as the flight went airborne, and then they rounded the big guy, and Peter was shot back down hard. If he passed out for a millisecond, no one was there to tell him.

"Stay down, Kid," Peter came back to Mr. Stark bending over him, hand firm on his chest. "You're done." 

"What? No, no, I'm good," Peter objected, fear of disappointing his father outweighing a few (maybe-slightly-kinda) fractured ribs. So before his father could open his mouth again, Peter kicked off, webbing a nearby airplane for leverage to propel himself back up into the fray. He caught a ride on War Machine and swinging past them, towards the escaping Captain America and the Winter Soldier- who had somehow gotten free of his webs. 

At this point, Peter was running on pure adrenaline, his spidey senses unreliable and haywire from the intense fighting from all directions. He surpassed the Black Panther due, sliding along the ground just in time to miss the entrance collapsing behind him - a ploy to keep them out. 

"Hey- put your hands where I can see them!" Peter tried to hold his web-shooters in an aggressive stance, pretending he wasn't wincing from a scraped left side where he slid. Okay, yeah, maybe he could have done better with his Dad's suit but- Teenage Rebellion!

The Captain cursed, turning around "Son, I told you. I have to do this. Hydra framed Bucky, and they're about to unleash a whole lot of evil on the world if we don't stop them." 

Peter looked between the two of them, and to be fair, he didn't really get a bad vibe from them. "If what you need to do is that important, you need to talk to Mr. Stark. He'll listen!" 

"We tried that Kid, Tony can't see past his own Agenda now. We're on our own," the Captain tried again. 

Peter groaned, "Oh come on that isn't-"

"If you don't let us go, a lot of people will die," The winter soldier spoke softly, seriously, "Don't let that be on our head, Kid. We can stop it."

Peter shifted, glancing between the two of them and then making up his mind. He aimed his webs and fired. 

His webs shot past the two Super-soldiers and found a home between them, trapping the Black Widow herself against the ground. "What the hell, Kid!" The widow spat. 

"Oh god, Oh god, Oh my god," Peter chanted. He looked at the restrained Black Widow in panic, like his webbing might hold the answers to why the heck he just did that. "I just switched sides."

The two soldiers stared at him in shock but recovered quickly. The Captain lingered just a moment to give Peter a nod, "You did the right thing, Son."

They were startled by the sound of the rubble being shoved aside, the Black Panther rising like a demon from the ashes, and Peter gulped, glancing back at the soldiers, "Please don't let this be in vain."

The Black Panther wasn't an Enemy Peter would fool himself into believing he could win against- but he didn't need to succeed. He only needed to give the Soldiers enough time to do what they needed- to go stop the real bad guy's plan. Mr. Stark would understand. 

The Black Panther, however, wouldn't. He launched at Peter, and Peter knew he couldn't dodge- despite what his spidey senses were screaming. Peter managed to block the first punch and felt pretty good about it until the hand extended with claws that dug sharply into his forearm, flipping him over and into the pile of rubble behind them. Peter reacted with instinct, flipping onto his feet and shooting a web with his food hand. He managed to trap the Black Panthers food to the ground. It didn't last long. By the time he had another web aiming for the Black Panther's torso, he was free and expertly dodging shots of webs, launching back at him.

Peter went down hard, head snapping against the ground. He held onto the Black Panther with his super strength just long enough to prevent him from going after the Jet before he was hit from the side by a jolt of electricity sufficient to incapacitate him. He let go, collapsing loose-limbed back, panting hard as the Black Widow and Black Panther stood over him.  

Just as the Jet disappeared entirely from sight, he heard footsteps behind him. "Oh, kid, no..." Iron man's voice came through unfiltered, helmet up and exposing Peter to the harsh disappointment in his eyes as he knelt over him. "Not you."

"I'm sorry Mister Stark," Peter mumbled, "I just-"

Peter stopped, spidey senses ringing the loudest since the fight started. He heard vehicles in the distance, the screeching of tires, and a series of heavy footfalls coming their way. Tony cursed and gripped Peters underarm, looking around. "I Never should have brought you here. Fuck. No, why did you have to help them, Kid?" 

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to let them go. No, I did but, I just wanted you guys to talk!"

"To talk? Hold hands like some Disney movie? Grow up-"

"It seemed like the right thing to do," Peter shouted, "It sounds like they're trying to keep something terrible from happening Mr. Stark and-"

"So was I," his Dad said firmly, eyes hardening.

From the rubble behind them emerged the footsteps, revealing soldiers in dark uniforms with heavy weaponry pointed at them. Peter glanced about frantically, not the biggest fan of all those guns aimed his way. He was led by the back of his neck by Tony, the armed men trained on him as they went. He noted the Scarlet Witch being similarly driven by Vision into a large black van. The not-so-small-man was being dragged - literally- behind her by the armed men. Hawkeye was tailing on his own.  

A little ways past them were a series of emergency vehicles. Peter looked up at Tony, 

"War machine was hit," Tony grit, "Broken shoulder and arm. That's the kind of people you tried to defend Peter." 

Peter tried to rebuttal, but Tony continued first, "No, this is where you zip it. I don't want another word from your mouth until we get this sorted out Kid. 

Peter looked down sheepishly. "Just, think about it, Mr. Stark-"

"What did I just say?"

"What if he's right! What if there's a bigger bad guy out there? Isn't that what you do!"

"We're superheroes, that's-"

"Not anymore," one of the men in black grunted. "He goes in the Van." 

Tony eyes the armored vehicle without saying anything, so Peter spoke up instead, "Er, I'd really rather not get in the creepy kidnapper's van. If it's all the same."

"Look, He's a good kid, He won't cause any more trouble riding with me," His Dad stuck up for him, warming something small inside Peter and reinstalling his diminishing hope. 

"That was before he attacked me and let my father's murderer escape," The man in the catsuit said, making Peter flinch. In all the fuss, he'd sort of forgotten about that part. "Van."

Tony didn't protest again when Peter was grabbed, so neither did he. Despite how easy it would have been to break out. He was scared, and the fatigue was setting in. It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought, he was just supposed to be a back  up to a backup, and now he was sitting in the back of an armored police car with the other ex-heroes."

"Shoulda read the accords kid," Hawkwaye grumped from across the van, "Tony let you into this fight knowing you might not make it out." But then Hawkeye was met with a sharp elbow to his gut and an order to shut up. 

Peter shrunk in at the words as much as the guard's brutality, pulling his legs closer up to his chest and wishing against all wishes he'd just stayed in New York. Now he was stuck in a black armored van in Europe going who knows where.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Spoiler for the Comics:
> 
> In the Civil War comic I remember at the end Peter switched sides to everyone shock. So I decided to loosely go with it.
> 
> And, I suppose I should add a Whump Tag now due to what's to come. Sorry about that.


	4. "The Enhanced Don't Have Rights"

After an indiscriminate amount of time in the back of the dark van - lit dimly by a line of off-white LED's along the corners- Peter was put out of his misery. They were being drugged for transport; he realized when a thick needle penetrates his neck courtesy of Angry Guard #1. But Peter couldn't be too upset about it- at least he could stop panicking. Hawkeye probably appreciated that if the thick concern on his face was something to go off.

 

 Peter had no idea how the drug worked with his metabolism, but apparently, he wasn't the first superhuman prisoner they'd taken. When he woke up, he was stripped of his costume and mask, a threadbare set of blue scrubs. The room was lit by fluorescent lights dimmed by a thick transparent material, similar to what was covering an entire wall- reinforced by metal bars. The other three were solid metal, and a small bed slate poked out from one without a blanket or pillow. A vacuum toilet jutted out of the adjacent wall with no mirror or sink. 

 

Panic set in first, waking up in an unknown location, no, waking up in a CELL. Peter crawled to the clear wall, peering out, "Hello? Anyone there? Help!"

 

"Give it a rest, kid," Someone shouted. Peter's eyes snapped over, scanning, and then finding the source in a similar cell across the way and to the left. He could barely see the left side of a person if he strained his face against the glass. The cells were arranged in a decagon, and he had a decent visual of several of them, but those ones were all empty. 

 

"Who- who are you?" Peter asked, unsure why he was stuttering at first. Then, he realized he could see his breath in the frigid air, and his feet were sticking to the ground by more than just his Spidey-powers.

 

"Antman," The guy sounded put off, "Scott Lang. Little guy, big guy. Prisoner-" he paused, "Oh, I guess they don't do numbers in this one."

 

"Where are we?" Peter shivered violently, crouching down and curling in on himself. He craned his neck again to try to see the others, but the action had him coughing, hand coming to his throat to find a solid block of metal there. "Wha-"

 

"Welcome to the Raft, Kid. Earth's number one prison for mad murdering Inhumans," Hawkeye called from somewhere out of sight.

 

Peter blinked, then blinked again, "T-The raft?"

 

"Ever wonder where all the bad guys go when we defeat them? A state of the art underwater super-prison. Courtesy of your benefactor Tony Stark."

 

 "Oh my god," He mumbled, breath coming in hard pants. He was in Prison. He knew he'd get in trouble for doing what he did- at least until the real bad guys were found. But he didn't honestly consider he'd end up in some super-max prison. An underwater prison. Oh god, there was no way out. He was stuck with a bunch of mutant villains and they didn't get parole. 

 

"I- I wanted, I didn't think- I thought what I was doing was right-"

 

"It was," a third person joined the conversation, the Falcon, who was out of sight to his right. "You did a good thing, kid." 

 

"Jesus," Scott breathed, "How old are you, kid? What did Tony bring you into this for?"

 

Peter couldn't quite get in enough breath between pants, the collar feeling like it was squeezing his neck, "Mr. Stark wouldn't..." he tried. "He'll get us out. You'll see." 

 

Clint laughed, and Peter found himself cringing away. Or maybe that was just the temperature. "It's cold, I'ts r-really cold," Peter stuttered, "Isn't this a little inhuman? N-not even a blanket. Hey g-guys, is it getting colder to you?"

 

"The kid doesn't have a blanket?" Clint asked. 

 

"'m not a kid-" Peter mumbled. 

 

"Guards on a power high, I know the type," Scoffed Scott, "Don't worry kid, they'll give you one soon. Hey, hey what's your name kid?"

 

"Nobody was supposed to know," Whispered Peter, realizing again what an impossible situation he'd been put in. "It was supposed to be a secret. Now everyone will know, right? That I'm Spider-Man."

 

"Yeah, well, that's part of the accords you were defending. No secret identities. No independent action. Signed off as nothing more than the weapons of mass destruction the Starks have made for generations," Clint said, enthusiasm dying down. "So, you got a name, or we gotta make something up?"

 

"I- It's Peter."

 

"Yeah? How old are you peter." 

 

"Fourteen," he answered honestly, head dipping into his knees. "Hey, guys, is it getting colder to you?" He asked. But when he tuned back in, the room was in an uproar over something, but he was just too sleepy to realize what it was. Maybe when he woke up, it would be warmer.

 

* * *

_ "Stark.... strongest non-... weapon on earth... we can't... too careful... Hibernate," _  And then the voices were too far away for Peter to hear. Maybe his dad was negotiating his release.

 

He trusted his dad. 

 

_ (how did they know the cold was his weakness?) _

 

His dad would get him out of there. He just had to wait a little longer. 

 

* * *

 

He hears two sets of footsteps but doesn't think much of it; he's honestly too cold to uncurl from where he's hunched in the corner, as away from the icy draft as he can be. They aren't stupid, and he'll give them that. His thin blue scrubs- the ones he has to be careful not to rip- give him no protection. There's no blanket. The cold is forcing him into a sleep that's so hard to rouse from. At this point, he'd gladly take the straight jacket Wanda was outfitted with. 

 

He can't see any of the others with how they're lined up, but he can hear them. Scott and Wanda are quiet, Clint likes to curse. Sam paces a lot. Their noises help him fend off the hibernation, though he sometimes forgets why he's trying to. His body aches, his wrist pulses with pain, and his stomach feels bare. It would be easier to go to sleep.

 

Then the cursing grows louder, and there's a bang. Peter tried to pick his head up, he does, but he's just so cold. 

 

"Better watch your back around this one, Nat! Might leave you behind to die too!"

 

"Oh? Are you talking about me? I'm sorry, is the prison paper out of date? Rhodes is making a full recovery, no thanks to you."

 

Peter perks up at that voice. He knows that voice- it's his dad- and wills himself closer to the front of the cell, but will alone isn't enough. He can't seem to get his joints to move. 

 

"Ironic," Clint's voice has a sneer to it. "But I wasn't talking about him."

 

There's a wordless exchange, but Peter's trying his best because, even if its the only thing he can understand, Tony Stark is here. 

 

His dads come for him. He doesn't know who's with him- their footsteps stop at Clint's cell, and there's a small thump, like someone pressing against the clear dense nanotechnology coated polycarbonate that Peter thinks he remembers reading about his dad designing. 

 

Clint was right; this was ironic. 

 

The second set of footsteps stop in front of his cell, and Peter cracks an eye open, trying his damnedest to move his head from behind his arm, but he only manages enough to see Tony's face through bleary eyes.  

 

The man looks terrible, worn out in ways peters never seen. His eyes are sunken, healing bruises blooming across his face and collarbone. Peter wants to say something. He wants to wipe away the guilt weighing his dad down. 

 

But he just can't muster the strength. Instead, he tries to convey his relief through his eyes, but instead, he finds water turning to icy frost along the corners until he has no option but to shut them from the sting. 

 

He thinks Tony says something, but he sounds underwater and far away. Then Tony's footsteps continue away from him. And he tries to stay alert, but he's fighting starvation and hibernation, and he loses consciousness just as Sam starts to speak. But it's okay because he knows when he wakes up, he'll be safe again. His dad came for him. 

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up to the familiar sound of food on a tray passing through an aperture. The meal consists of plain noodles, corn, and a slab of dry chicken with a Styrofoam cup of water and a spoon made of the same delicate material. For a long few minutes, he stares at it, processing what it meant.

 

_(He supposed he's lucky. He saw the guards had a tray of liquids with straws for Wanda.)_

 

His dad didn't get him out. The weight sinks and then lifts when he allows himself to think just one more time: just a little longer. His dad would come. It must be the court proceedings- they must take a while to hammer out. 

 

But his dad didn't. At least not that day. Or the next. Or the next. Eventually, the effort it took to uncurl enough to pull the food towards him was too much. The guards- finely dressed in black (warm) material stopped offering him a 'shower' (of cold water blast design) when he stopped responding. Peter was repulsed by his body odor but still missed it when his sense of smell was the first to go.

 

He had a lot of time to regret and reflect. It came in the moments after a fitful sleep, when his body was fighting to recover from the harsh conditions. His sanity flickered on and off like a lightswitch. Peter didn't previously know people could be so cruel, that he'd done something so wrong by letting the captain go. He thought he made the right call- he thought the reasoning was firm. He didn't mean to hurt the black-suited guy or the black widow. 

 

One day, not long after his father first visited, there was a parade of footsteps. He thought, this is it: he's come. 

 

He counted three cells opening, and he heard Clint yelling about "They're just kids!'

 

Three cells. Two remaining. Kids. It didn't take long for peters sluggish brain to figure it out. Clint, Sam, Scott were being escorted out. 

 

Peter couldn't physically cry, but he felt his heartbreak all the same. The non-enhanced. The ones with rights and who didn't belong in a raft built for 'murderers and monsters.' Made for Wanda and him. 

 

Whether or not his dad came for him, Peter had a feeling it would be over sometime soon.

 

* * *

 

_He wakes to fire, lava slinking across his sensitive skin, pooling around his armpits and groin._

 

_"Hold him down!" someone's yelling, voice thick and accented. "I need Carfentanil, 10 mg- Just relax, Umntwana. It will be alright."_

 

_He fades to blissful black._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Let me know in the comment if there's anything you want to see or if you just want to say hi!


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